Alone I Break
by Magdalenara
Summary: Tells what happened to Ronald Weasley after he left Harry and Hermione in Part 7!
1. Chapter 1

**Alone I Break**

** sudden pain**

He didn't turn around.

Ron knew that she came behind him, but even after she started to beg him to come back he didn't turn around to her. Not even her tears melted his anger. He wouldn't turn around to her. He couldn't. He couldn't look into her face. Not now. The cold pain of rejection burnt too deep within his heart and stung steadily.

_She had chosen him..._

He quickened his pace, pushing deeper into the forest while he heard her sob behind him. The adrenaline rushed through his veins, sharpening his senses and so his ears almost let him see how she swayed and tumbled, blinded by her tears, struck down by her sorrow. When he heard her fall he stopped for a short moment, almost ready to run back to her and to help her up again. To pull her into his arms and forget what had happened.

_She had chosen _him_..._

The words that echoed in the back of his head fed his anger and so he shut out the noises of sorrow and desperation and left the tent behind him. Although he wasn't quite sure where he was heading he moved on. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't come back, he couldn't turn around to see that look in her eyes again. To see how she had looked back at _him_ and chose _him_. Like everyone had done.

He didn't say a word or turn around before he finally left them behind and disapparated right into the night.

He believed to have landed right in the middle of nowhere. Cold wind blew into his face and left him shivering in his own cold anger. However, with every step he made into the darkness his rage gradually vanished until it dissolved completely into the night. For a moment the emptiness he felt without his warming anger left him swaying in the coldness and darkness of that night and automatically his hand went into his pocket. He pulled out the _Deluminator_ and simply clicked it, hoping he had thought of any lights to keep. To his own surprise one of Hermione's tiny little balls of light appeared and he felt his heart grow heavy. She must have snuggled it in it while he slept.

Ron swallowed hard when he felt a painful sting in his heart, the pain forced him on his knees and not even Hermione's light ball could warm him any longer. He choked hard, hoping, praying that the pain would end. But it didn't. Only, after a few minutes, did it grow weaker until it was at least standable and slowly he rose up. He didn't know what this sudden pain was, but he didn't like it, that's for sure.

Finally, he took his time to observe his environment, trying to orientate himself at the trees that still surrounded him he reckoned that he was still in a forest. But where? _Where the hell am I?_

Ron sighed heavily and cursed his own lousy sense of direction, Hermione had always been the one who found their way...

Again the pain flashed through his heart and again he fell on his knees, gasping for air until the wave of sudden pain eased and he could breathe more easily. He shook his head and eventually gave up. Tonight he wouldn't find his way to nowhere. He needed to sleep, he needed to rest. Tomorrow, everything would be looking much better. The strange pain in his heart would be gone.

But I didn't.

The pain in Ronald Weasley's heart wouldn't leave for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Regrets**

The next day wasn't better, it was even worse, for it was real, all too real.

He woke up in the morning and panicked for almost half an hour that the tent and Harry and Hermione were gone until he remembered that _he_ had left.

He had left. He had left them. _He had left her_.

There was it again, the pain of the former night. It flashed through his heart again and he cursed silently, trying to keep himself from moaning such shameful sounds. Automatically his hand went into his pocket, he pulled out the _Deluminator_, hoping that its light would warm him and ease his pain, just like her mere presence had always done it. When he clicked the device the well-known ball of light reappeared and instantly the pain eased and the warmth of a distant spring day crushed against his face. He closed his eyes and revelled in the light and the warmth, behind his closed eyelids the warm light manifested itself into a face and he sighed heavily when he noticed whose face it was.

Then from one moment to another, the bright warmth was gone and immediately he opened his eyes only to see that his last hope vanished into thin air. Hermione's ball of light grew weaker, his rays faded slowly away, his energy concentrated in his centre, remaining there as a burning supernova until it imploded into a last lightning strike of light and warmth and vanished then. All of the sudden, it grew colder around him, and darker, too. He shivered heavily in this cold autumn's morning before he put the _Deluminator_ away again. He rubbed his arms in order to warm himself, but it was useless.

It didn't take him long to realise that the cold he felt in his heart had nothing to do with the coldness of that morning. Nor did it have anything to do with the disappearance of the ball of light. He felt the lump thicken in his throat and the tears burn in his eyes. Words formed in his head, but he wasn't yet ready to face them, to even think them. However, there was no point in shutting the truth out any longer and he knew it.

_He had left them...He had left _her_...What had he _done_?_

His breathing grew heavy and soon the tears were not just burning in his eyes any longer but shamefully covering his cheeks in traces of hot, wet streams which blinded him. He couldn't see any longer, he had lost his path, he had lost her. The pain rampaged through his heart and he just couldn't get rid of it. He would never get rid of it.

_Stop crying like a little girl, Weasley_, shouted his conscience back at him, _DO something!_

"Do something, do something..." he stammered constantly through his own tears while he tumbled over his sleeping bag and fell over his own feet. The pain he felt instantly in his knees distracted him from his panic and his heart's pain long enough to clear his mind and to grant him the solution to all his problems.

_He just had to got back and everything would be just as it had been before...just as it had been before...like nothing had happened..._

Ron hurried to pack his things together, almost forgetting half of his things in the process, but his mind was now infiltrated with a joy that blinded his eyes for everything so unimportant as a sleeping bag. He needed three attempts to get his sleeping in his rucksack, for his hands shook so heavily in the happy anticipation of returning of what he'd missed most. Hermione would have shaken her head if he told her how much attempts he really needed to apparate successfully back to them.

He arrived just at the same spot where he had left last night and instantly his eyes searched for the tent, he remembered it so well, it had to be just on top of the little hill. But there was..._nothing_.

Ron felt his throat tighten, but he only shook his head, reluctant to accept what his eyes received so clearly. He pushed his rucksack off his shoulders and started screaming their names, shouting it out as loud as he could, as long as he could until his throat hurt and his voice died in his throat.

However, no matter how loud or often he shouted her name, she didn't respond to him, only the wind alone granted him an answer and it only told him what he already knew. The truth knocked him off his feet and he sank down to the earth, crying for the mistakes he could now never undo.

He had lost them. He had lost her.

_He was alone._


	3. Chapter 3

Ron refused to leave this place for almost a week.

At first he waited, waited hours after hours, days after days for them to return. But they didn't.

In his heart he knew they would not return, long before he could finally accept, long before he could finally accept that he'd deserved it. He had left them. And so they left him. It had been his mistake that caused him pain, now, his fault and his wrongs alone. There was no one else he could blame.

Every morning Ron angrily wiped the tears from his face, trying to fight his weakness, but he couldn't fight this feeling of shame that crowded his thoughts. He had left them, like a coward, like a little child, angry about being robbed of its sweets.

He felt ashamed.

He felt ashamed for his own weakness, for the terrible mistake he'd made and for his inability to find them. He felt helpless. He left ashamed.

He didn't know where to go to. He knew he couldn't go home. He didn't want to be this coward running home to his mummy because he couldn't handle the real world. But he _was_ a coward, and he had been too weak to stand against the reality of his own character.

He felt ashamed of himself.

Most of the time he felt like an idiot and inside his head his conscience screamed at him for all the wrongs he did and for this one mistake that had destroyed everything. He felt so stupid for himself. Now that the voice of that blasted locket didn't darken his heart any more, he saw what he'd done. He saw how ridiculous his accusations had been, how much he'd hurt them. How much he'd hurt her. He laughed at himself under hot tears of shameful sadness, laughing about his own weakness and his idiocy. He felt anger, he felt pain. He laughed for he had no longer tears to cry.

Then there were times when an incredible dark fear clutched his heart in a such a painful grip he could hardly breathe. At first, only his dreams showed his dreads, until it became worse and the fear that those nightmares would become reality made him go insane of all the panic.

He heard her scream in his dreams, her sobs and cries of pain echoing in his head even during the light of day. He saw her lifeless look, the brown of her once lively eyes numbed with a dead expression, fixed upon him although she could not see anything any longer.

He saw his own hands soiled with her blood, saw how she screamed at him to stop, begged him to look at her, to come back to her. But every time, in every nightmare he suffered, he saw himself turning his back on her. He left her. Every night he left her once more, adding another painful splinter of self-hatred to his heart's agony.

It hadn't taken him long to find her scarf, left alone, bound to a tree, a mark, her mark to show him that they had been here, a mark that showed him where they left. It was like a mark she left on him.

On this morning he couldn't feel ashamed for his tears for the first time while he looked at the scarf in his hands. Although the fabric wasn't warm any longer, he pressed it to his face, inhaling her scent that levitated like a phantom on this piece of silk, letting her image appear in his mind. The fabric muffled down his sobs and drank away his tears, when he realised that it was not Hermione and that this piece of her would not bring her back.

He had lost her. He had left her. Nothing would ever bring her back, no more.


	4. Chapter 4

Ron took another sip from his Butterbeer and stared down at his half-raw steak that he'd barely dared to eat. According to what it looked like it reminded him at some stuff Ginny had tried to cook.

He'd never forget that evening she had had the sudden wish to learn how to cook. She never learned it. And they had hardly believed to survive her sudden passion.

Ron was torn out of his thoughts when the door of that filthy little pub flung open, cold winter wind stormed into the little warm room together with several snow flakes which melted momentarily as soon as they touched the ground. He turned around to see what bastard didn't mind to shut the door, but then his anger instantly vanished. It only took him one glimpse of a second to recognise the two guys, Snatchers, hardly worthy enough to be called Death Eaters. Sudden silence struck the pub, deadly silence.

Ron turned around again, keeping his head down just like everyone else did in the pub. Keeping a low profile. Staying out of trouble. Just avoiding everything that could get yon on a list of undesired people. _Undesired people_. _Blood traitors_. _Half-Breeds_. _Mudbloods_.

Another sound made him turn around again and his eyes widened only for a second before he got the better of him and moved to cover his shock. The two Snatchers didn't come alone on this cold winter's night. Behind them they pulled a young girl into the pub, she had hardly reached the proper age for entering any Wizardry school. Her whole body was chained with a thick iron chain, leaving red streams on her pale skin. She had cried, a lot, and judging by her weak paleness she hadn't had any drop of water or piece of bread in a long, long time. She looked positively half dead.

"Good evening, Gents." said the filthy looking one with the eye patch and his greeting tore him out of his thoughts. Quiet responses could be heard. Ron didn't contribute to it. His eyes went back to the girl who lay on the floor.

"Sir, get us something to drink, we are in the back room. Better be quick about it, we have a lot of work ahead us, interrogating this filthy little _Mudblood_. We found her just yesterday.

Little sissy here tried to hide in the woods, eh?".

Cold laughters shook the room and everyone in the pub started to laugh as well, although it sounded strangely mimicked. Again, Ron didn't contribute to the laughters. His eyes were furiously focused on the two bastards standing only a few feet away from him. Invisibly his hand touched the red scarf around his neck, the sudden memory of _her_ smile flashed through his mind and it only multiplied his anger.

Then his look went back to the girl on the floor and for the very first time she looked up, before her eyes finally locked with his. There was an expression in her eyes that made his knees tremble in fear and anger. Later, after the Snatchers had pulled her into the _interrogation room_, he would admit to himself that her eyes reminded him at the eyes of another _Mudblood_.


	5. Chapter 5

** the Brave**

"This is completely mental." Ron Weasley whispered to himself over and over again while he approached the door to the back room; his wand already raised, aiming at a not yet cleared target.

It was only a few hours after midnight and the whole pub was asleep, and so were, at least that's what he hoped for, the two Snatchers...who could, however, also be still awake, ready to face him.

"As I said, completely mental." he breathed for the last time before he finally stopped in front of the door. Fear crawled up his neck and his feet were already tingling, eager to turn around and to return to his warm, cosy bed.

However, Ron didn't turn around and not even the promise of a bed with real pillows could make him give up his plan. His other hand came up and stroke the scarf around his neck with an tender, subconscious note. Sometimes he would imagine that it felt like bushy hairs. Or at least still smelled like that.

He sighed again and repressed such thoughts, he knew he had to have a clear mind if he wanted to do what he'd come for. He couldn't leave her there. She didn't deserve such treatment. She was only a child, defenceless. If he didn't help her, who would? No, he would not stand aside and watch such atrocities. He knew, the one who accepted injustice without fighting it made himself guilty as well.

He, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was not to be guilty for their crimes, he was not a coward. This was his moment, finally he could prove to himself and to _them_ that he was not a coward, not someone who runs away, who left the weak behind.

Again, Ron stroked the red scarf around his neck as if it was some sort of talisman. And indeed, it was. Whenever he touched it, the world with all its horrors appeared to be a little brighter and the coldness of loneliness a little warmer. It was as if she was there, gently responding to his hand's touch, giving him the courage he needed to do what he knew had to be done.

As quiet as possible he pushed the door open and with a silent sigh of relief he noticed the loud snorting of the two Snatchers who lay across in their beds with several glasses of Butterbeer still rolling on the ground.

_To put in bluntly, they'd simply knocked themselves out._

Ron shrugged and passed them in silence, careful not to produce a sound with his boots he approached the young girl who lay on the ground. She was still tied up from head to toe with this thick iron chain that cut into her innocent flesh. In the flickering light of candles, Ron could see that she had been hit and kicked, several bruises and cuts marked her skin and her breathing was shallow and flat. For a second he feared she was unconscious and not asleep, but then as he finally lent over to her she opened her eyes. Her brown eyes only stared at him for a moment before she jerked up, about to scream in fear of more punishments and interrogations. Ron acted instinctively and his large hand covered her mouth within seconds, silencing her immediately.

"I'm here to help you, I'll get you out of here, girl.

But I need you to be quiet." he whispered almost silently while he looked intensively into her eyes, making sure she understood his words. Finally, she nodded slowly with her hand and he removed his hand from her mouth, leaving a shallow mark on her white skin which faded within seconds.

Instantly he focused on her chains, his eyes flying over the hard, cold metal, looking for any weak spots that would make it easier for him to break them.

"What's your name, anyway?" he whispered again after a while, more to himself and to reassure her than to really get knowledge of her name. However, it did work, her breathing calmed down.

"June, June Summers. I've been on the run for days after I've escaped from the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic. I tried to hide...I had no food, nothing...but I couldn't go home either...my parents..." she breathed heavily, whispering all too quickly for him to understand more than her name, before she fell silent again.

"You're Ron Weasley, aren't you?".

Ron's wand slipped out of his hands when the shock of her words hit him. He cursed silently under his breath while he picked his wand up again and threw a look back at his friends there in their beds. No sign of awakening. Still sleeping like a log, still looking as dead as stones. His head turned around again and he locked eyes with her in the dim light of the candles.

"How do you-?" he started sharply but then he stopped when he caught her staring at his fiery red hair, "It's the _hair_, isn't?" he added shortly, June simply nodded while she continued to stare at his hair. Ron focused on his task again, but cursed again after a few more minutes. He threw a look over his shoulder to check if those apes were still asleep before he raised his voice again.

"Listen, June, I can't open these chains without causing noise." he said quietly and upon the fear that clouded her eyes at his words he added with his determined, strong voice, "No, listen, I'm not going to leave you here. I need you to listen to me. I'll open these chains and after I did this I want you to run away, okay, as fast as you can. Do you understand?".

June looked at him as if he was a mad man, straight away coming from psychiatric.

_Completely mental_, as I just said, answered his survival instinct.

"But what about you?".

"I asked: Do you understand?" he said again without answering her question. Her eyes grew large and finally she nodded her head. She had understood. Ron stood up again, his hand pointing his wand against the chains. He took several deep breaths while he tried to prevent his hands from getting so damp and sweaty. June looked up to him again and the brown in her eyes resembled another pair of brown eyes. And all of the sudden, his fear and nervousness vanished, the shaking of his hand disappeared. He felt ready.

* * *

><p>"DIFFINDO!".<p>

The chains broke apart and fell off her fragile body with a lout cracking noise that echoed through the room and with a strangled scream both Snatchers jerked up. They didn't need much time to get what had happened. Ron saw as they reached for their wands and for the very last time he turned around to the girl he had just saved. His eyes burnt themselves into her brown orbs and he could literally see how she fought with her conscience. She wanted to stay, he could see the thought forming within the brown of her eyes. However, he wouldn't allow it.

"Run!" he shouted back at her and aimed his wand at her, frightened her eyes widened and she turned around and ran off. Ron didn't waste any time to ask himself how she would make it without any equipment, without a wand. He turned around and raised his wand at the two Snatchers, ready to face his fate...or however he wanted to call it.

"Well, good morning, Gents.

Have had a good night's sleep?" he joked like someone who hadn't anything to lose. With his one hand raised, the wand aimed at his opponents, while his other hand sneaked to the red scarf around his neck again, stroking it as if the touch would bring him good luck.

"What do we got here?

A Ginger-head on the run." said one of the Snatchers, his lips forming this ugly smile that disgusted him, for it was the same smile he had seen on their faces when they talked about _interrogating_ the girl several hours before.

"But, wait, let me pick a wild guess...

Red hair, dirty, worn-out clothes and stupidity taken for bravery...

Mate, I think we got us a real Weasley here.".

There was it again, this disgusting, humiliating smile, more like a laughing grin that heated his temper, letting him welcome the anger he had never been good at repressing at all.

"Where is Potter?" the other one asked now, but Ron didn't answer. He simply snorted disparagingly and throwing a contemptuous smile back at those idiots. Both shared a meaningful glance before they faced him again.

"And where is your little girlfriend...that filthy Mudblood Granger...".

"Fuck off!" Ron shouted and unintentionally a curse was shot back at those Snatchers. They dodged quickly and in the very last moment, but could prevent to get hit by his curse. Slowly they rose up again, exchanging arrogant smiles.

"See that? Ginger here has a little fire left...well well...".

The two lifted their wands, perfectly aimed at him, those disgusting smiles glued to their lips. Ron knew he should be afraid, but he couldn't feel any dread, not now when the anger rushed hot and red though his veins. In his mind's eye he imagined what those bastards did to Muggle-borns, what they would do to Hermione...

"CRUCIO!", the curse missed him by mere millimetres and Ron was torn out of his thoughts, he ducked behind a table, before he raised his wand.

"BOMBADA MAXIMA!" he whispered and then a loud explosion took place that knocked the Snatchers off their feet and hurled them through the room with desperate cries on their lips. For a moment there was nothing but silence, thick smoke darkened the air and Ron couldn't see a thing.

However, he didn't dare to leave his hiding place out of fear that those bastards would only wait for their opportunity to have their revenge on him. Several minutes passed before he finally plucked up the courage to move, slowly he stood up behind the table, but as soon as he stood upright red and green lights through the room.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!", the killing curse missed him by mere inches and Ron knew it was time to his retreat. He didn't even dare to shot another curse back at them for his backing out of fear to reveal his position. Then, all of the sudden a hand lurched forward and grabbed him by the scarf around his neck, Ron tumbled, struggling with the hand of the Snatcher, before he could break away. He didn't waste a moment, but disapparated immediately, thinking of the only place safe that was left in this god-forsaken world.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm so sorry that it took me so long! I'm usually a pretty quick updater, but the last weeks were just horror for me, I've been sick, my grannie died...

I still hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p><strong>6. Sea Shelter<strong>

"What do you think will happen to her?".

Ron was torn out of his thoughts by the question of his older brother Bill who passed him a cup of Scotch, encouraging him with a raising of his eyebrows to drink. Ron took a sip of the golden liquid- and coughed immediately, the alcohol burned down his throat and the pain made his throat tighten for a moment before its warmth settled down in his stomach and eased his panic and strangled nerves.

He didn't hesitate to take another sip, though, now prepared for the strong effects of the drink.

"I dunno, just hope she'll make it. But, all alone, without a wand..." he finally answered his brother's question while his glance faded away into nowhere, thinking of the Muggle-born, June Summers, he had just saved. He wondered, where she was now, how she would survive?

His fingers searched oh so naturally for the red scarf around his neck, which had become some sort of Talisman to him, calming and comforting him when panic or despair overtook him again. But his fingers simply grabbed thin air. Ron looked down to find that the scarf was gone and remembered that he'd lost it during his spectacular flight. Somehow, the loss weighed heavier on his heart than he'd like to admit. It appeared as if something else had vanished with it, something very dear to him, as if his greatest weapon, his protection shield had vanished, too.

Ron smiled bravely although stiffly when Fleur joined them in the kitchen, she brought him a hot soup, but surprisingly to all of them he didn't throw himself at it. He attempted to taste it, just not to hurt Fleur's feelings as a cook, but he gave up quickly. Bewildering even to himself, he couldn't bring himself to feel any hunger, he just wasn't hungry...a miracle.

Ron came back to his Scotch, nipping at it while he thought of what had just happened. After he'd freed himself out of the clutches of that bastard he had disapparated to the only place he could have thought of- and he appeared here. At Bill and Fleur's. The Shell Cottage. By the sea shore, safe, secluded, hidden. He knew he could stare here, for a while...

"I'm though surprised that you'd had stomach to save her..." he heard his brother talk and instantly Ron felt a twist in his chest, not missing the undertone Bill had used. He had told him why he'd come alone, why Harry and Hermione weren't with him. He had told him that he'd left..._them_.

"You mean, because I'm such a coward to run away by the slightest sign of trouble..." he started, trying to defend himself, but he found it impossible to continue his lame attempts. Besides that, he couldn't go on with it anyway, because Bill cut him off immediately.

"That's not what I meant, Ronald, you know that.".

The serious tone of his brother made him look up and due to the fact that Bill had used his full name he knew that this was going to be serious. Ron swallowed hard, looking at his brother, not even trying to avoid his typical _Older-Brothe_r-look.

"Pity and courage, those are traits very seldom to find these days, Ron." he started but stopped shortly after as if he needed to choose his next words very carefully. Bill sat himself on the stool opposite to him, locking eyes with when he resumed talking.

"We are Purebloods, Ron, and it's so easy for us to go the...the easy way.

In contrast to others who are _forced_ into a choice, we have to choose the right path on our own and this decision is determined for our characters. We don't have the excuses that show us our way.

It is this fact that marks us courageous people, Ron.

For it takes a lot more grit to choose to endure all this trouble instead of just yielding to it. To stand up for people, who are defenceless, instead of just ignoring it because of your own safety.

It takes another kind of courage to do this decision although you would have had another choice.".

Ron looked away as he felt his cheeks blush in response to the words of his brother. He could feel Bill staring at him, but he didn't dare to look up. No one had ever called him brave. No one.

"Dad would be proud of you. And Mum...well, you know how she is..." his older brother joked and Ron joined him with a light chuckle, but then he snorted weakly. He didn't have to look up to see how the smile on his brother's face slowly faded to replaced by quite a different expression.

"So, you still didn't want to go back...?".

"No, I really don't need the shame of running home like a crying little sissy. I could never look into their eyes again. No, I can't go home. I ran away once, that's enough. I have to find them, that's the only way to make it up again.".

Ron emphasised his words and his final decision upon this matter by drinking the rest of his Scotch with a last, big sip, swallowing the golden, burning liquid although it burned down his throat like pure fire. But he ignored it, even welcoming the punishing burning pain of it.

He didn't have to lift his eyes to see that Bill and Fleur exchanged some meaningful looks, before he joined her and both turned to leave him alone in the kitchen. In the very last moment, though, before he left the room, Bill turned around again.

"It also takes another kind of courage to accept his own weaknesses. You never feared to face them, Ronald, but sometimes, sometimes you forget that you have also strengths. You do are very strong and courageous, although you never seem the see it.".

* * *

><p>"Ronald?" a voice asked behind him, a female voice, and Ron who jerked up out of his slumber, fooled himself for one moment with the thought that this female voice belonged to another girl.<p>

But in the end when he looked around it was still only Fleur. Ron cleared his voice several times, trying to get fully awake – he must have fallen asleep in the kitchen right at the table.

"Fleur, is Bill back already?" he asked but she simply shook her head, before she went away to make some tea, turning her back on him while she boiled the water. Ron rubbed his eyes, yawning silently, before Fleur, out of the blue, started speaking again.

"You must miz zem." she noted and he nodded subconsciously with his head, invisible to her.

"It must bee _terrible_ for you to bee apart from 'er.". It had been a statement, clear, irreversible, not a question. Ron looked up only to find Fleur staring at him with her large, beautiful Veela-eyes. She truly looked like a divine fairy being and yet her beauty could not tempt him. He had been blinded by another girl's beauty before, like someone who had looked into the sun far too long, now, all the other stars had lost their light for him. He could not see them any longer.

Fleur smiled at him, she must have interpreted his silent staring as a shocking approval of her guessing and so she continued talking.

"I 'ave seen 'ow you luked at 'er. At ze wedding. 'ow you tried to _danse_. My dear _beau-frère_, you are a very gud person, very gud indeed, but you are a _danseur terrible_.".

Surprisingly to him and to her, Ron laughed. It had been his first true laughing in a long, long time and he felt the immediate relief, as if some dark weight was suddenly lifted from, making it easier for him to breathe.

"Well, thanks for the compliment, I'll make sure to return the favour in time. But I'm terrible at everything, so that's nothing new.".

"Zat is not true, I zink, you managed to save ze girl, didn't you?

You are a _héros_.".

"I'm not a hero, I –", he made a pauses, struggling with himself, he almost tripped over his own tongue, the words sought to escape his mouth. It needed to be said, needed to be admitted.

"I only did it because of _her_.".

Fleur had no problems in understanding who he meant with her. She looked away, feeling the weight of his confession, the admittance of his own weakness.

"Whenever I looked at that girl...I always saw _her_. I couldn't bear to imagine that they could also do this to her. I can't bear to imagine that I'm not with here...not there to protect her...", Ron stopped immediately, he gasped as if he couldn't breathe any longer and then his eyes went wide in shock. He jumped up, shoving his stool away. His hands went in his hair, gripping the ginger strands in panic, his words could hardly be understood.

"Bloody hell! What have I done? She could get herself killed and I'm not there...she..., God, I could never forgive myself if she gets hurt...I left her to _die_...".

He lost his voice, he couldn't say the words, didn't even want to think them. Terror filled his heart and a sudden pain flashed through his body. In his mind's eye he pictured the most dreadful sceneries. No, he couldn't bear it.

"You 'ad your _raison_.".

"Reason? I was an idiot!" he shouted back at her and she startled shocked, "I believed she and Harry...I am jealous bastard and this is the only truth...I ran away because I couldn't accept the possibility that she liked him more...I was coward...how stupid can a man be?".

Defeated now that he had finally admitted why he'd left, Ron slowly sank back down onto the stool. He gasped for air, feeling a strangely familiar wetness on his cheeks, but he didn't try to wipe the tears of his shameful weakness away. Let them flow. Welcome the pain. You deserve it, his mind screamed back at him and his heart just nodded silently.

"I don't zink you're a coward, everyone would 'ave been afraid of ze possibility zat ze person you love fancies someone else. And zere are much more idiotic _raisons_ to run away from ze one you love. Zink of Lupin. We are all fools in love.".

Ron looked up to her and locked eyes with her. The understanding he saw in her look disarmed and surprised him, it shocked him. He didn't want to feel her understanding. He didn't deserve it. What he'd done could never be forgiven. Never. But Fleur still looked at him with eyes that sought to comfort him, eyes that sought relieve him of his pain and blame. Should he give into it? What if he did? Would it mean that there was still hope? Would it mean that mistakes could be undone, history could be unwritten?

"I need to find them.

I need to find her."

"Yes, you do."


	7. Chapter 7

WOW, that took me a long time to finish, eh? This is the last chapter of this series. Tell me what you think!

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><p><strong><span>7. The Light of Hope<span>**

Ron sighed heavily while he turned around in the more than uncomfortable bed, trying to find some sleep while the voices, coming out of the radio, trailed off. His thoughts went back to the comfortability of the Shell cottage – warm meals, a comfy bed, the privilege of family company. But instead of enjoying the comfortabilities of a home, he had set off again and chosen to stay at this Inn, which, to be perfectly honest, hardly deserved said name.

He turned around again, closing his eyes, trying to force the much needed sleep on him, sleep he knew would never come, and sleep he secretly dreaded, for he knew that sleep overcoming him would also make way for all those nightmares he feared the most. He had left Bill and Fleur, and he had set off in order to find Harry and Hermione again; though he didn't have any idea where they could be, or whether they were still alive...

At this point, his thoughts usually stopped dead in their tracks; the very idea of them both hurt or even dead was unbearable for him. He knew that it would have been his fault, for it had been him who had left them alone, him who had left them to die. It was all his fault. Ron subconsciously wiped his face at his sleeve and pressed his face into his pillow, preventing more tears to come.

It was in this moment that he heard it for the first time.

_Ron...remember Ron..._

All of the sudden his eyes popped open and he stared into the darkness of the night with nothing but the cracking sound of the radio disturbing this terrifying silence. He felt his pulse racing, his heart beating so fast, so loud that he hardly heard the radio at all any more. He was instantly wide awake and all his thoughts of sleep were forgotten.

It was impossible, simply impossible...

He must have been gripped by sleep already, that was the only logical explanation, he must have imagined himself that he heard what he believed he had heard; there was simply no other way that he could have heard, no it was impossible.

_Ron..._

His trail of thoughts was disrupted once more when he imagined himself to have heard her voice once again saying his name; no, he hadn't imagined it – that was her voice, remembered it with every fibre of his body. He instantly got up and turned towards the radio – he had listened to _Potterwatch_, maybe she and Harry were now on the run with the the _Resistance_ – but the old device did not make any other sounds but cracking noises. No, it couldn't have been the radio, he thought, but what else –

_Ron..._

Now there was no point in denying it any more; he was dead sure that he had heard her voice calling his name, but it hadn't come out of the radio. As an almost magical response to this realisation, he felt suddenly something warm, nearly hot, in his jeans' pocket and naturally his fingers went inside his pocket and pulled out whatever had been lying hidden there. To his great surprise it was Dumbledore's Deluminator that surfaced out of the depths of his pocket.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he examined the inconspicuous device in his hand, barely bigger than a lighter, until his eyes went wide again. Was it possible that her voice had been coming out of _this_? Was is possible that this device hid more secrets and wonders than just the magical ability of putting on and off sources of light? Curiosity and desperation mixed up and made his breath go heavy and irregular at the sudden prospect of hope.

His fingers went sure and steady on the device as he clicked it just as he had done it so many times before; immediately, the light of the candle in his room went out, and at first disappointment pressed him down. He wasn't sure what he had expected – a sudden puff of smoke and light, that Harry and Hermione would magically appear in front of him, or...

It was then that his eyes were drawn to something outside his room and he got up and walked over to his window to look outside. The darkness of the night was thick and almost impossible to penetrate with his weak, human eyes, but there, sure and steady in the blackness of night glowed a light. It was blue, and it pulsed like the beat of a human heart – it was his light of hope.

He was dead sure his father wouldn't have approved of him trusting something so easily that hadn't got any eyes or visible signs of brain, but he, Ron, knew, he just knew that this bluish, pulsing ball of light was everything he had hoped for in weeks. It was his path, now shining in front of him, showing him the way back home, showing him his way back to Harry and Hermione.

Ron hadn't hesitated after he had made that conclusion; he had got up and packed together all his stuff, which wasn't so much after all, and then he plucked up all his courage and went outside. He wasn't entirely sure what to do at first – after all, he had never encountered so magic before, and usually it would have scared the hell out of him, but not now. Hope was pulsing in front of him, he knew he would not back away from it.

Then suddenly the light started to move, at first slowly but then quicker and quicker, it was floating towards him, closer and closer, heading towards his broad chest, and then, then it went inside him, going straight through him. All of the sudden he felt the hot warmth of the ball of light inside him, its pulsing so close to his heart that would have thoughts that both were the same. Hope was beating inside him, and he did not know why, the thought just came oh so magically to him, but he sort of just knew that this new beating near his heart would show him where to go.

Ronald Weasley took a deep breath as he drew his wand and then, he closed his eyes and let go of the air in a rush of whisper that sounded very much like a name; and then he disapparated, hope leading him on, its light surrounding him, healing his broken heart – and he knew that this new light inside him was actually _her_ light, the light she had inflamed in him.


End file.
